


heaven and hell

by anonymonypony



Series: fire and brimstone; heaven and hell [2]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Córdoba, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Reunions, Genoa, Islamic Andalusia, M/M, Pining, Ramadan, Self-Denial, Unrequited Love, Weddings, circling back to each other, intrepid intercity travel, mediterranean seafaring buddies, mention of PTSD, piracy and kidnapping, tunis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymonypony/pseuds/anonymonypony
Summary: The city of Genoa is subject to no one except God in all things and the emperor in a few,Nicolò says, by way of introducing his city to Yusuf. Yusuf is fairly certain that in Genoa, money is sometimes a substitute for God, but he refrains from commenting as such to Nicolò.Sequel to 'fire and brimstone'.fire and brimstonewas Nicky's side of the story of their first meeting at the 1099 Siege of Jerusalem. In this story, we follow Yusuf through his parting (in the prequel) with Nicolò, where he struggles with PTSD from surviving the violence at the siege. Yusuf's family makes an appearance, and so does Nicolò's family.In this story, Joe is from a merchant family based in Tunis. As with fire and brimstone, it's quite a hell of a ride, condensed into as few words as I can manage for the amount of historical detail I'm covering. In another universe, this is a luxurious 100k word fic, but you'll still find lines that hurt real good in this.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: fire and brimstone; heaven and hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2016452
Comments: 11
Kudos: 66





	heaven and hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to 'fire and brimstone', but if you haven't read it, here's the episode recap:
> 
> PREVIOUSLY  
> Nicolò di Genova, a Genoese crossbowman, takes part in the siege of Jerusalem due to circumstance. At the siege of Jerusalem, he finds that he is unable to kill one of the enemies, nor can he seem to die either. Shocked by the brutality of the siege of Jerusalem, and plagued by recurring dreams of the unkillable enemy, Nicolò deserts his position to seek out this man. They lead a group of refugees to nearby Ashkelon, and at Ashkelon they end up sleeping with each other (oops). They decide to part ways, and Nicolò finds a string of odd jobs, until one day, by pure chance, he and Yusuf are reunited.
> 
> AND NOW...we have Yusuf's side of the story.

1 Ramadan 492 AH

It starts after the Maghrib prayers and it doesn’t stop. Yusuf has to hold it in, politely reject dinner invitations from people with second, third degree connections to the family business. Yusuf has to hold it in, even though it feels like he can barely breathe now, until he returns to the room at the inn. The streets are a blur, and his heart is hammering so hard it feels like it could barge right out of his chest at any moment. 

Somehow, Yusuf manages to drag himself back to his room before he crumbles to the floor in sobs. Perhaps he was still reeling from inertia the previous day, and now he’s finally come to a stop. In one lurching moment it is as if he is dragged down by the furious tides of history. Wave after wave of flashbacks hit him—the crashing of the city’s walls, the invaders pouring in, the massacre of civilians, blood pooling in the recesses.

Yusuf can’t do anything but shake and cry, body wrecked by gasping sobs, drowning in wave after wave of regret and confusion at the unfurling of life choices that led him to this point.

Having wrung himself dry, Yusuf is too unwell to head out. The last vestiges of twilight are gone and the sky draws fully dark like a curtain across the land. He performs the Isha prayer within the confines of his room, and then, because it is the first night of Ramadan, he follows up with the Tarawih, and then the Witr prayer, so that he may go to sleep after.

The prayer settles his spirits, and he gains clarity on one issue. He has been on the run from his family for over three years now, and it is time for him to return and ask for their forgiveness.

***

The ship pulls into the port of Tunis, and humans and goods alike transfer to smaller boats capable of navigating the shallower waters of the lake that will bring them to the heart of the city. The lake is peaceful, shimmering in the midday sun, and dotted with small fishing boats that have fed the people of the city for a millennia. In the center of the lake lies an island with an old Roman fort, but instead of soldiers one finds an army of flamingos standing in place, feathers colored pink from the shrimp that flourish in the salty water of the lake.

In this city, rulers come and go. Yusuf was born here, but he hardly put any roots down. His childhood was divided between here and Kairouan, but that pales in comparison to the succession of places he traveled to with the advent of adulthood—the curse and luxury of hailing from a well-to-do merchant family. As the eldest son, the moment Yusuf turned old enough to travel it allowed his father to settle down, and so his father chose to build a dwelling not far from the Al-Zaytuna Mosque. When he was fifteen, Yusuf won the adzan competition, and for a time it was his voice that could be heard from the minaret, which was perhaps one of his greatest moments of glory in life. The minaret stands tall above all other structures in the city and Yusuf relies on it for navigation—the winding streets are all too easy to get lost in, coupled with the fact that the city seems to change and shift like a living animal each time Yusuf sets foot back in his hometown.

Within the city walls, safe from roving bandits, the family house is a series of interconnected buildings framing a courtyard with a prized olive tree in the center. The olive tree predates any person in the family, and Yusuf’s father had it moved from the ancestral village to placate his own mother—Yusuf’s grandmother, who was from a more nomadic background and had to be persuaded she could tolerate life in the city. The bulk of the family wealth came as a result of his father’s exploits with his brothers, as political tumult destroyed the agricultural sector and shifted wealth to the port cities. Yusuf’s grandmother, a humble olive picker, constantly sought to serve as a foil, to remind the family of the impermanence of money and the value of preserving nature.

At the house, Yusuf takes the service entrance, and he asks after his mother. She is asleep, but the servants will let him know when she is awake, and they will tell her that he has arrived. The wait for his mother is interminable, made worse by the heat of the afternoon sun and not being allowed to eat or drink.

“She will meet you in the courtyard,” a servant informs, and Yusuf thanks them.

There is no one else in the courtyard except his mother. Yusuf takes her hand and kisses it three times as a sign of respect. “Forgive me, O mother,” Yusuf begins, nearly jumbling the words of the apology he committed to heart, out of nervousness. “For I have brought shame upon the family with my wanton deeds. I am deeply sorry for the hurt I have caused you and the family—”

“Yusuf,” his mother begins to say, and Yusuf lets her continue. “Tell me I should give up on finding you a wife, and this will be the end of it.”

Yusuf is taken aback, but he can’t bring himself to utter those exact words. “I—I just can’t see myself getting married.”

“You said that ten years ago. And then seven years ago. When will you be ready to marry, Yusuf? After what happened with Laila, perhaps the both of us have to face the truth. I am not getting any younger, and I think I am prepared to admit defeat, so that I am not wasting my time—what about you, Yusuf?”

More than anything, Yusuf wants to give his mother an answer that doesn’t hurt her, but he is at a loss. 

“It’s not a wife you want,” his mother says to him, and even though it is true Yusuf still can’t say it, not especially to his mother.

“I’m sorry, ummi, I’m sorry,” is all Yusuf can choke out, and as the tears pour out of him, his mother folds him into a warm embrace.

“There are worse things in life, my boy,” his mother reassures, stroking his forehead. “I heard about Jerusalem and I knew you were there. I thought you were dead.”

Yusuf is fairly certain he should have died in Jerusalem, and yet he is alive, in the shelter of his mother’s love, and he is thankful for the mercies big and small that carry a person from one day to the next.

***

To break fast with the family, after three years of running from them, is to admit defeat in some way—and yet, in the vulnerability of surrender, the smallest act of love can lift a person to new heights. 

Here is, after sunset prayer, iftar, a veritable feast, with whole grilled fish, eggplant and olives, and here are the members of his family. In order of seniority, there is Yusuf’s father Ibrahim, his father’s first wife Rayya, Yusuf’s mother Ghazal, and his father’s third wife Salamah. Yusuf is the oldest child present, though he has one older half sister, Zaynab, who is with her husband’s family. After Yusuf there is Amal, who is also with her husband’s family, in Tangier, and after Amal there is a gap of ten years before Rayya gave birth to Yahya. Yusuf and Amal share the same mother as Farheen, who is sixteen this year. Farheen is born one month before Sabreen, who is Salamah’s first child, and Sabreen has two younger brothers, Talib and Khalid, who will turn fourteen and thirteen respectively this year.

Although they are not twins, it is how Yusuf refers to Farheen and Sabreen in his mind, for it is sometimes difficult to tell them apart. The twins have an informal, casual manner that drives the parents up the wall but Yusuf is glad that their effervescence quickly smooths over any lingering awkwardness. 

“So,” Farheen demands of Yusuf. “Do you have any handsome male friends to recommend to me?”

“Farheen! Yusuf’s ‘handsome’ male friends are not for you,” Yusuf’s father exclaims disapprovingly. “You have an education to—”

Before Ibrahim can complete his sentence he is interrupted by a guffawing Sabreen, who has nearly choked on her pomegranate arils. 

“Yusuf’s handsome male friends are not for you Farheen,” Sabreen repeats in an exaggerated imitation of their father, and then shoots Yusuf a pointed look.

“Watch your manners, Sabreen,” Salamah interjects, hoping to cool the situation down.

There is laughter amidst chaos, and for a sweet, blessed moment Yusuf is allowed a glimpse into a future where everything is normal again.

***

Three years ago, Yusuf ran away from home, on the day he was to sign the marriage contract with the woman he was supposed to marry. All things considered, his family had been about as un-pushy as they could get, and this was only the third time he was seriously introduced to a prospective partner. Her name was Laila, and she was the daughter of one of his father’s close associates. Laila was beautiful and intelligent, and the union of the two households would have strengthened business ties and opened up new trading avenues. 

The first time he was introduced to a prospective marriage partner, Yusuf was so caught unawares he did not even have to feign his lack of preparedness—it was quickly obvious to all that Yusuf did not consider himself ready for marriage. The second time he was introduced—Yusuf was twenty-six and on the verge of being considered overdue. Yusuf would have caved to the pressure until he realized that this woman’s brother was a man he casually slept with in Córdoba for very self-hating reasons, which is a whole other disaster story. The thought of having to put up with that man as his brother-in-law for life though—the woman, as described to him, seemed a perfectly nice person but to save himself Yusuf had the inspiration that he should pursue further study. He applied to and was accepted by the Al-Nizamiyya university in Baghdad, committing himself to years of grueling scholarship under the masters with the side benefit of escaping an unwanted marriage.

The third time, with Laila, at the age of 30—Yusuf had run out of excuses by then, excepting that the most obvious excuse was unutterable. Laila was an honorable woman, and Yusuf would almost certainly dishonor her in his neglect of husbandly duties. All his peers were married, many bearing the fruits of first children. Rumors were starting to circulate, so Yusuf agreed to the arrangement, only to get cold feet on the day of the contract signing which led to a panic attack, a mental breakdown, and then running away from the family home, blindly boarding the first boat that took him out of the city, so that when his family members arrived to escort him to the ceremony they found only an empty room.

_ You caused quite a stir_ , Zaynab had written in a letter to Yusuf. The family had to delay the approach of Laila’s family, and Zaynab was dispatched to talk to Laila herself. Laila said that if there was another suitable man for her to marry it might forestall her father’s anger. It would save both families from reputational damage too. At the time, Yahya was 18, and Laila was 24. It was not entirely impossible to match them up, but Yahya’s personal interests were so different from Laila it seemed like an undesirable match. Zaynab recounts running back and forth between the two houses relaying messages and strategizing with the relatives how to rescue the situation. Yusuf’s family had written out an entire shortlist of all the single men of marriageable age they knew, and they went through the list trying to find the most suitable match that they could reach within the day to convince him of marriage. It was through skillful networking with Laila’s female relatives that Zaynab was able to coax out the fact that Laila had many suitors in waiting, and by luck it turned out that one of them was a scholar at the Al-Zaytuna where Zaynab’s husband taught. With even better luck, it turned out that this scholar’s family specialized in breeding horses, and Laila was really, really into horses. 

Zaynab was able to track Yusuf down from reviewing the family accounts. Since he is supposed to inherit the bulk of the family business, Yusuf has always used the family account, and he has to make periodic withdrawals to live on, which exposes his location. Zaynab had reached out to him in writing.  _ Father’s not that angry with you. Your mother was the angrier one. She gave Father a good dressing down and blamed him for leading you on the wrong path. _ All that aside, Laila’s marriage to the scholar is well favored by both their families, and whatever reputational damage to the Al-Kaysanis was quickly smoothed over with business favors. 

All that remains is Yusuf’s family wound.

***

Ramadan is a time of reset, fasting, repentance. Good deeds are multiplied, as are the bad, so Yusuf tries his best to refrain from his bad habits and do more of the good. With each day, Yusuf works to repair the damaged relations in his family. He tells his mother what happened in Jerusalem, and gains her emotional support in working through his trauma. Zaynab and her husband make frequent visits, and they accept Yusuf’s formal apology. His father asks him to mentor Yahya, and Yusuf endeavors to impress upon the more carefree Yahya the importance of keeping detailed written records in case of contractual disputes. The twins ask Yusuf for colorful, lurid stories, which he indulges them with, and Yusuf spends time getting to know Talib and Khalid, who were just babies when Yusuf first moved out of home.

On the night of the 26th of the month Yusuf is jolted awake by the most vivid dream he’s had in ages. Since making peace with his family his dreams have settled into hazy, forgettable visions, but this one drags Yusuf back into events he would rather leave behind. The Frank he regrettably slept with in Askhelon makes a reappearance, and this time he is being captured and hung. It’s the sequence where Nicolò is hung that is the most visceral, and Yusuf reflexively touches his own neck to check that there is nothing there. Yusuf sits awake in bed for a long moment, pondering whether the dream is real. As Yusuf tries to talk himself out of believing the dream, he is struck by a pang of guilt—regardless of how little he wants to acknowledge Nicolò in his life, Nicolò wasn’t an entirely bad person, and he had the stirrings of a good heart. Dead or alive, Yusuf decides that he should say a prayer for Nicolò in any case.

The dream doesn’t leave Yusuf alone, haunting him through the festivities of Eid-al-Fitr, so much so that Yusuf finds himself wondering if he should find out what actually happened to Nicolò. On the 4th day of Shawal, the month that follows Ramadan, Yusuf follows his uncle who is returning to Mahdia, where his uncle is based. From Mahdia, Yusuf decides to board a ship headed to Amalfi, laden with olive oil and dates. Unfortunately, midway between Sicily and Amalfi, the ship encounters pirates, and Yusuf is kidnapped and taken hostage.

The kidnappers are not particularly threatening, being motivated by money more than anything else. They also have some awareness that Yusuf is from a wealthy family, and seem to respect certain boundaries in their handling of Yusuf. Still, they do not provide Yusuf with any information he can use, no clue to their origin nor their affiliations. This works out to the kidnappers’ disadvantage when they end up in the port of Messina, where Yusuf’s uncle has connections predating the Norman conquest of Sicily. The kidnappers are arrested and thrown in jail without seeing an ounce of the ransom they were planning to ask. If only they told Yusuf who they were—Yusuf might have been able to pay them off himself.

Free to go, Yusuf spends a day exploring the city, before stopping by the family branch office. Messina has a flourishing cultural scene, thanks to the determination of each cultural group to preserve their community, bound together by the threads of commerce. Working with the liaison at the branch office near the docks, Yusuf is tasked with finding a buyer for surplus crates of citrus fruit which will go bad soon in this sweltering heat. Yusuf is introduced to the customs officer, and he accompanies the customs officer from boat to boat, trying to flatter the customs officer into favourable concessions.

Amidst the coarse tongues of the foreshoremen and their shop talk, Yusuf catches the sound of a more formal accent, the grammatical quirks of a man who’s gone through a formal Latin education and sounds like an impostor in the lingua franca. He looks up to confirm his suspicion.

_ Nicolò. _

He’s alive. Nicolò is alive and beaming at Yusuf with tears in his eyes. Something stirs deep in Yusuf, a garbled knot of gratitude and mild annoyance. If God has looked upon Nicolò with favor and kept him alive, that is a mercy attributable to God. For Nicolò to haunt Yusuf, as a man Yusuf casually slept with fully expecting that they will never meet again—is this some kind of test?

“You’re alive,” Nicolò says to Yusuf, almost gushing.

“That’s a comment I should direct at you,” Yusuf returns, but the thought of asking Nicolò if he was hanged seems so ridiculous at the moment. That was a mere dream, right? Should Yusuf be taking dreams so seriously?

Silence congeals between the two men as they try to pull their thoughts into words. A shiphand approaches Yusuf, providing a welcome interruption.

“Al-Tayyib, is he bothering you? He came up to me asking for a job just moments ago.”

“Oh—” Nicolò begins, looking embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” Yusuf reassures. “He’s with me.”

The shiphand’s eyes dart between Yusuf and Nicolò, unsure of how to react, then he beats a hasty retreat.

“Sorry for the trouble,” Nicolò offers. “I saw your family seal on some of these crates and thought it could lead me to you. I guess...it did?”

“It was no trouble at all. Nicolò, how have you been since I last saw you?” 

“It’s a pretty long story,” Nicolò replies. “Maybe let’s wait till I’m done with work?”

***

Once again, Yusuf is treading his well-worn path of sin. It starts furtively, with a dinner and innocent conversation, and then it ventures into something involving alcohol, music, or dance, activities that flirt with the notion of the ecstatic, picking up cadence into the pulsing beat of sexual desire that takes over, until it comes to a boiling point and spills over the rim, the release and denouement of taking a person to bed.

Of course, this sort of sexual transgression is par for the course for someone of Yusuf’s stature, who could be expected to keep and upkeep lovers. What is unusual for Yusuf is that he doesn’t care too much about the alleged beauty of the unbearded youth, nor does feminine beauty stir any emotion within him. Indeed, Yusuf has a proclivity for bearded men brimming with a rough-hewn intensity. What is unconventional for Yusuf is that at his age, he still enjoys being penetrated, like an aberrant spillover from his youthful sexual encounters, where he first experienced this forbidden pleasure.

In his youth, Yusuf had a surfeit of suitors trailing him everywhere, and it made for quite the thrill, that he could have asked for anything and received it from these besotted men, so eager to impress were they. Yet, when he followed them into their bedchambers, the power he thought he had over these men sometimes turned on its head. Yusuf’s father was aware that all this was happening, implicitly allowing it on his watch, infuriating his mother—although he also reassured Yusuf that he is ready to kill any one of these men if they ever hurt him. Despite that, more often than not Yusuf kept the details of the encounters to himself, a number of Yusuf’s early lovers being his father’s associates. It all made for an extremely confusing experience growing up, made all the worse by the envy and contempt of his peers who thought he was spoiled beyond measure and was unfairly elevated to a position of privilege.

Yusuf still attracts a horde of suitors, although the older he gets the pickier he is, and the older he gets the younger these suitors become, which bewilders Yusuf since there is almost no chance he would look their way. With hindsight and life experience the only thing that becomes clear is what Yusuf does not want in a partner, although the list of what he wants is not any less murky than when he started out.

Nicolò shows up at the restaurant straight after work, unwashed and in that same raggedy tunic speckled with mystery stains. Yusuf has finished half a carafe of wine while waiting for Nicolò, and it dawns on him that if he sleeps with this filth-ridden Frank again it might signal some new lows in his sex life and yet Nicolò is such easy pickings. 

Nicolò is gazing at Yusuf with the hopeful, lovelorn expression that Yusuf has become something of an expert in identifying. It really isn’t as enviable as people imagine, and it often puts Yusuf in an awkward situation of having to let someone down gently, all while the other party invariably descends into a range of unpredictable reactions that can lead to uncontrollable situations.

Yusuf pours Nicolò a drink, and invites Nicolò to start talking about his life. Yusuf is trying to fish out the information on whether his dream of Nicolò is any window upon the truth, or if he can dismiss it and move on. Nicolò gets to a point in his recounting where it begins to correspond with Yusuf’s dream, and Yusuf gets a chill down his spine. It is not the answer Yusuf is seeking for, although truth be told, it is the answer that Yusuf somehow expected. Yusuf doesn’t see the value in revealing this to Nicolò, since it might make him even more fixated with Yusuf. He goes the rest of the night nodding agreeably as Nicolò rambles on and on, jumping from life story to moral treatise and philosophical exploration. Nicolò rambles like he’s giving a sermon, and Yusuf tries his best to tune him out, and in doing so Yusuf realizes that he is far less attracted to Nicolò than he was earlier in the day.  _ Praise God, _ Yusuf thinks with relief,  _ for He reveals His Mercy when it is most needed. _

By the end of the night, things have cooled to the point where Yusuf is engaging with Nicolò on strictly business terms. Nicolò has been drifting from job to job, and anything that improves on his current station in life is a welcome opportunity. Nicolò is literate and conversant in multiple languages. Nicolò has some training in the martial arts and will be valuable in a security detail. Nicolò might do well as some sort of agent in the brokering of trade deals, especially tense ones that might break out in fights—and yet, Nicolò suffers from the crucial flaw of being startlingly ignorant as to worldly matters. It is very much a consequence of his monastic upbringing, and eventually Yusuf takes pity on Nicolò and hires him as a personal assistant of sorts, hoping that time will reveal a suitable role for Nicolò.

Yusuf doesn’t have to wait long for an answer, for it turns out that the pirates who kidnapped him are Genoese. Yusuf finds himself in a position of having to write a letter of complaint to the Genoese authorities, a letter that has to strike the perfect balance of diplomacy yet convey displeasure at the damage to trade relations, without bringing too much attention to sore points of history like the Mahdia campaign of 1087 AD. That might remind the Genoese too much of their upper hand, and the Genoese might harp on in turn about the Fatimid sack of 935 AD. Nicolò offers to do more research into who’s backing these pirates, and the day he finds out he runs into Yusuf’s office nearly convulsing with excitement.

“It’s my brother,” Nicolò exclaims breathlessly, eyes shining with a half-crazed incredulous look on his face.

The even bigger shock to Yusuf, after the revelation that Nicolò’s brother is involved in piratical activities, is that Nicolò’s family is of the gentry. However, after giving it more thought, Yusuf concedes that Nicolò does have certain markers that betray this truth if Yusuf had bothered to pay attention. Perhaps the biggest shame is that Nicolò signed off any rights to an inheritance on entering the monastery, and is just one in a multitude of disinherited second sons prospecting for a domain of their own—a Frankish scourge raiding the East of its treasures like a swarm of locusts.

Nicolò decides that he should return to Genoa and talk to his brother, and make some sort of appeal based on familial relations. He will attempt to persuade his brother to engage in legal, above-board seafaring activities, and issue reparations to Yusuf.

Separately, Yusuf’s uncle, who is aware of the entire situation, writes to him and warns him against trusting Nicolò.  _ All the Genoese care about is money, _ Yusuf’s uncle warns,  _ and a person will do well to remember that _ . His uncle then decides that Yusuf should go along with Nicolò, just to ensure Nicolò doesn’t commit an act of betrayal that implicates the family business. Yusuf is equipped with a secret stash of gold to bribe his way out of any trouble he encounters on the journey.

***

Genoa rises from the sea almost all at once, dominant and menacing with its mountainside of castles and fortress walls. The harbor teems with immense galleys of all flags and a queue of boats funnel out of the harbor, waiting for a berth within the rows upon rows of piers to open up.

“That’s my brother’s castle! That’s my monastery!” Before they have even docked, Nicolò seems to have sprung into a childlike fervor on seeing his place of origin, grabbing onto Yusuf’s arm in his excitement, dragging Yusuf to the port side of the ship for a better view.

Nicolò’s excitement is short-lived when he realizes those are all the sights he can point out. “I guess I’ve never really been outside of those places.”

_ We can go exploring together_ , the thought springs in Yusuf’s mind, but he chases it away before impulse makes him say the words.

At the docks, they are met by envoys sent by Nicolò’s brother. Nicolò has written to his brother so he is expecting them. They are taken through narrow and dark laneways, made all the more claustrophobic by buildings that tower above them, blocking out the sky with their knife-sharp edges.

At the great hall of the family keep, they come face to face with Nicolò’s older brother Simone. Simone says something to Nicolò in their local dialect, and Nicolò is marched off to another room before he can utter a word, which unsettles Yusuf, who interprets it as portending trouble.

“Hand over all your weapons to Oddo there,” Simone says, gesturing at a servant-in-waiting.

Yusuf hands over his scimitar, but decides to leave his concealed dagger where it lies, strapped to his leg.

“Follow me,” Simone says, and Yusuf complies. Simone is taller than he is, of an imposing stature, and six years older than Nicolò. Nicolò described him as a very serious man, obsessed with strategy and intellectual games even as a young person. Before he was sent off to the monastery, Simone had made Nicolò something of a personal lackey, and Nicolò recounted stories of picking up arrows for Simone’s archery practice, where new arrows would dart past Nicolò’s face while he was still in the middle of picking up spent arrows.

Simone has taken Yusuf into some sort of a study, where they are surrounded by four walls full of books. Opposite the entryway is a fireplace, and in the center there is a heavyset desk. Simone slides a letter across the desk for Yusuf to read. It is Nicolò’s personal letter, containing a gentle admonishment for getting family money mixed in with pirates, and an appeal to Simone’s better side, hoping that he will see the error of his ways and make amends by disassociating with criminal activity and compensating Yusuf for the value of goods taken in the pirate attack. The second page of the letter contains a neatly itemized invoice for all the lost and stolen goods, corroborated with the bill of lading at each port of call. Yusuf hadn’t asked Nicolò to send that second part, and inwardly Yusuf is horrified at the lack of graciousness such a detailed invoice implies. Kidnapping and piracy are extremely common on the high seas, so common that every venture plans for a reasonable degree of loss and there is an implicit gentlemen’s agreement that ransoms will be paid where a hostage is treated well and the ransom demand not unreasonable.

Simone makes a show of tossing the invoice into the fireplace. “I am not going to pay that,” he scoffs.

“That’s understandable,” Yusuf makes every effort to convey his agreement.

“I’ve never dealt with your family before. You know, if I take offense to you, I can annihilate your family so thoroughly you’ll have to be sold into slavery.”

“Presumably that’s why we’ve never dealt with the likes of you.”

The corner of Simone’s lips curl into a wry smile. “So this is what the cat dragged in. What does your family do?”

“Just humble merchants of Ifriqiya. We are aligned with the Khurasanids, who are on peaceful terms with the Hammadids, who in turn have recently sworn allegiance to the Abbasids. We mostly operate out of the ports of Tunis, Mahdia and Sfax. We also have connections to the caravan routes through Kairouan. For many years now, our home has been under attack from the roving tribes of the Banu Hilal inland, and the Normans at sea.”

Simone’s smile widens on his face, in an unsettling manner. “Gold,” he muses. “Your family has gold.”

“Would you like me to sell you some?” Yusuf offers, since Simone has proved himself knowledgeable enough to cut through to the unspoken part of Yusuf’s description of the family business. 

“Tell me the price and I’ll decide,” Simone counters.

“The price is conditional on many factors,” Yusuf parries.

“What can I offer you?” Simone relents.

“The Genoese are known for their ships,” Yusuf begins, and resists the urge to add that it’s pretty much the only thing of value they can offer. Elsewhere, everyone knows the Genoese take but do not give, racking up profits from plying between empires, taking their cut in the middle.

“How much gold can you give me for a ship?” Simone ventures, and Yusuf senses that ships are not something Simone can provide on his own.

“Tell me your ambitions,” Yusuf says, metaphorically throwing down the gauntlet. “And I’ll see if I can work something out. You’re no Embriaco.”

Yusuf was referring to Guglielmo Embriaco, Nicolò’s ex-commander who led the Genonese contingent into the Crusade and who is probably rolling in piles of gold and riches now.

“I hate Embriaco,” Simone offers, and Yusuf provides a hearty agreement. There’s nothing like finding a common enemy to build an alliance.

One by one, Simone flips the cards in his hand, revealing what’s at stake for him—he intends to run for Consul one day, and he has an eye on getting there through the treasury. Not hailing from a shipbuilding family, the only way he can control them is to control the financing they often need to build ships. To control financing, Simone needs a reserve of gold. To get his reserve of gold…

This is where Yusuf comes in. To give Simone his gold, Yusuf needs to be able to turn a profit in this town. To turn a profit, Yusuf wants undisturbed passage for all vessels bearing his family’s goods, exclusive trading rights on particular items and to pay duties on all goods at local rates. Simone is currently a principal officer at the Custom House, and this is something he can easily grant Yusuf. With each successful shipment that Yusuf brings into Genoa, he will have a clandestine delivery, straight to Simone, of an undeclared chest of gold. 

And so it is. The next morning, they will get the exclusive trading rights and exemption on foreign duties notarized in public. As for the rest, it stands on the tried and true means of the gentlemen’s agreement.

Simone invites Yusuf to stay for dinner, and as Yusuf is about to leave the room, Simone beckons him with another question.

“Out of curiosity,” Simone says, drawing out his words pensively. “What is your association with Nicolò?”

Yusuf’s heart nearly skips a beat. There is a flash in Simone’s eyes, the knowing glint of a man with keen perception.

“He’s a secretary for the family business.”

“And you hired him?” Simone asks, seemingly incredulous. 

This may well be the moment where Yusuf fears for his life, and he takes the time to recall the dagger strapped to his leg. “Is that so remarkable?” 

“He’s not very employable,” Simone replies, with the barest raise of an eyebrow.

“He’s very literate. And excellent with detail,” Yusuf offers.

“Ah.”

“Perhaps his grasp of monetary concepts can be improved on, but I’m sure he’s trying his best.”

“What a charming way of phrasing it,” Simone muses, relaxing his posture, which eases the tension from the room.

Yusuf is trying to piece together whatever clues Simone just revealed, but he is inscrutable to a fault. He is definitely making some sort of appraisal of Yusuf, and perhaps Simone is trying to decide how much of a threat Yusuf is, but why would that vex Simone so?

_ Ah. _ Yusuf arrives at some conclusions of his own, and he has to test them. “If you don’t mind me asking, why was Nicolò sent to the monastery?”

Simone stares at Yusuf for a long while, and then he tosses Nicolò’s letter into the fire. “He was found kissing the gardener’s son.”

_ He was nine _ , is Yusuf’s first thought, with no small measure of horror. 

“The gardener nearly beat his son to death. They were both mere children. Compared to that—sending him to a monastery must have been like paradise,” Simone supplies. “At least I think that’s what my parents thought.”

“Why is a monastery like paradise?” Yusuf asks, genuinely clueless. As Nicolò had described to him, praying eight times a day, endless recitations and a neverending cycle of administrative tasks—it didn’t sound all that appealing.

Simone shoots Yusuf a quizzical look, and then his expression relaxes. With a bemused chuckle, he explains to Yusuf in vague, euphemistic terms, “Monasteries are full of...his type. I don’t know what your sort call these types. But I mean—you know, those types.”

_ Message well received. _ Yusuf is simultaneously relieved that Simone no longer looks like he might kill him at any moment, and yet this unexpected reveal about Nicolò seems to have Simone thinking Yusuf is on his side. The way Simone puts it though—it’s so discomfiting, so cavalier—Yusuf is left reeling with indignation, for he is something of the  _ type _ Simone disdains as well.

***

At dinner, Nicolò makes a reappearance—and he is washed and fragrant-smelling, and dressed in luxurious fabrics which look admittedly comical hanging off his loping frame. Yusuf is introduced to Simone’s family—his wife Agnese d’Asti, and his two children, Matilde and Pietro. Matilde is sixteen and has recently been introduced to the lute, which she hopes to learn. Pietro is twelve and interested in art.

The lute is really just a European make of the oud, which Yusuf is intimately familiar with, thanks to a former lover who was a court musician. Matilde is asked to play something on the lute for the guest, and Yusuf offers to demonstrate some tunes he picked up from his years in Al-Andalus. Pietro is asked to show some recent paintings, and Yusuf showers Pietro with praise for having a good eye for proportion.

The children retire early for bed, and Nicolò excuses himself to go for a walk in the garden. Yusuf asks to be excused to join Nicolò, and Simone releases him, with a quick affirmation that their business is done.

Over the glittering sea in the horizon, dotted with the lights of anchored ships, the moon reveals itself in a full orb, sharing her light with all generosity for the people of this earth.

“What did your brother say to you, when we first entered the hall?” Yusuf asks Nicolò, still curious about Simone’s true motives.

“Oh?” Nicolò asks, brows furrowing in concentration. “Oh—yes he did say something. He said I looked like an unwashed stray cat in need of a bath.”

_ Right _ , Yusuf thinks, allowing himself to relax a little more. It’s always hard to tell, when other people are speaking in a different language, whether they’re saying anything bad about you. Yusuf has to agree with Simone on that point about Nicolò. On the other hand, the refined garments don’t suit Nicolò at all—or maybe Yusuf is simply accustomed to seeing Nicolò dress plainly.

“So—did he agree to our request?” Nicolò ventures.

Yusuf has to resist the urge to bury his face into his hands from the embarrassment. “Nicolò, please, I beg of you, the next time let me review the entire letter with all attachments before you send it off.”

“Oh,” Nicolò replies softly. “Was that...too much? Simone has all the money so I think it’s only right—”

“Yes,” Yusuf gently replies, pondering how best to phrase it to Nicolò. “In business you never bring up the fact of money, when talking about matters of money. It’s just gauche. Only bandits do that.”

“My brother  _ is _ a bandit,” Nicolò retorts almost instantaneously.

“Let’s not get into that,” Yusuf tries to put the matter to rest. “Anyway, we worked something out and we’re getting it notarized tomorrow. It’s all good from here.”

Nicolò looks like he could continue the argument, but then relents and changes the topic. “You played the lute really well just now,” he offers, making peace.

“Thanks,” Yusuf begins, but then something catches in his throat. Over the years Yusuf has been getting better at handling his feelings for his former lover, but sometimes the grief from the loss of the relationship cracks upon him like a whip of lightning, signalling a sudden, torrential downpour of emotions.

Umar ibn Muhammad al-Ishbili was an oud player for the Abbadid court, then for the Almoravids when they took over the Taifa of Seville. The years with Umar occupied almost eight years of Yusuf’s life. Umar is a superlatively gifted musician, a virtuoso who has been playing the oud since a tender age, a Ziryab of the times, if you will. Umar’s playing conveyed such an unfathomable depth of expression that could bring tears to any listener’s eye, and perhaps the tradeoff for this sublime gift is that Umar constantly struggled with a turbulent inner life and Yusuf bore the brunt of it. They weren’t always together all those eight years, but when they were together, and when Umar’s artistic confidence wasn’t shaken, those were the transcendental moments of Yusuf’s life.

“Must be a special person, the one who taught you how to play,” Nicolò comments, picking up on Yusuf’s silence. “I would like to hear more about this person, if you’re willing to share.”

A gentle breeze swirls through the enclosed garden, a hortus conclusus, rustling the leaves of the fig trees that line the border. A smattering of green figs, of the native Paradiso variety, swell in bulbous clusters on the trees, late for the harvest. The garden is beautiful, with a decorative fountain in the center, and a view over the harbor. The family castle rests on the side of a steep hill, and the city twinkles in lamplight beneath them. Yusuf wonders who tends to the garden these days, and what happened to the gardener and his son.

“It’s hard for me to talk about him,” Yusuf replies, in response to Nicolò’s question.

“Were you in love?” Nicolò is gazing outwardly at the port.

“Yes,” Yusuf replies, looking elsewhere to avoid eye contact.

“What does love feel like?” Nicolò asks, and it is wistful sounding.

“It’s excruciating.”

Nicolò has an expression on his face like Yusuf’s words hurt him on some level, and,  _ oh, _ Yusuf realizes now, Nicolò’s interest in him never went away.

“I don’t recommend being in love,” Yusuf continues, trying his best to cushion Nicolò’s landing in case a rejection is called for.

“I—” Nicolò begins, but then stops himself. He seems to be blinking back tears, but it is hard to tell in the dewy moonlight. “What did he do to hurt you?” Nicolò asks softly, barely above a whisper.

Yusuf almost wants to laugh off the question. The list is long, but it’s not something he feels like telling Nicolò—not the fact that Umar always had a bevy of other lovers, that Yusuf never felt like Umar’s preferred one, even though Umar was incorrigibly his. The way Yusuf loves—he can only love one person at any given time, this one person will take all primacy in his life, that daily Yusuf would supplicate for affection and that any shred thrown his way would be enough to sustain years of fidelity. Yusuf was only saved from the brink, so starved was he of Umar’s love to the point where his sister Amal commented that he looked physically unwell. Amal invited him to Tangier where she lived with her husband, and it was only in Tangier that Yusuf began rebuilding a sense of self outside of his love for Umar. However, there was the occasional dip into impulsive, self-destructive behavior, like the bouts of casual fornication he would engage in when he is grasping for some validation that somewhere out there, someone in the world finds him attractive still.

“When a relationship is over, even the things that used to bring you joy can hurt you,” Yusuf states, but he is unwilling to dwell on the thought, so he turns the conversation over to Nicolò. “What about you? Have you been in love before?”

“I was in the monastery for sixteen years of my life,” Nicolò supplies, as if it is an obvious answer.

“So? People don’t fall in love in a monastery?”

“You’re supposed to love God, above all, and then all things that are His Creation.”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I know,” Nicolò sighs. “I might have had some intense platonic friendships with some brothers at the monastery which culminated in bizarre tussles for recognition, but never anything romantic.”

“Do you feel like you missed out on a large part of life?”

“Yes and no—you know, it was only after leaving the monastery that I found out everyone was trading sexual favors behind closed doors anyway. I sometimes wonder if the assurance of God’s mercy is taken as a license to sin.”

Yusuf has to suppress a chuckle. Nicolò is, in so many ways, unworldly to a fault, a pure spot of unblemished naivety. He asks if Nicolò would like to accompany him on a walk around the city, and Nicolò acquiesces.

_ The city of Genoa is subject to no one except God in all things and the emperor in a few _ , Nicolò says, by way of introducing his city to Yusuf. Yusuf is fairly certain that in Genoa, money is sometimes a substitute for God, but he refrains from commenting as such to Nicolò. Nicolò takes Yusuf to the San Siro, the monastery he grew up in. He regales Yusuf with petty stories from the daily affairs at the monastery, where the bishop had to juggle conflicting demands from the nobility. Most establishments are shut for the night, except for the illicit ones that Nicolò glosses over blithely, not even allowing Yusuf a moment to absorb the sights, curiosity denied.

Near the port, quiet for the night, Nicolò abruptly turns to Yusuf and drops a confession on him.

“I’ve been thinking that it’s time for me to leave your employment,” Nicolò says, surveying the flags of the ships docked in the wharf.

“You’ve only worked for a month,” Yusuf counters, although the truth is closer to six weeks.

“It’s closer to two,” Nicolò insists.

“What do you plan on doing next?”

“I might go study something,” Nicolò muses. “I’m taking suggestions on what to study.”

“How long have you been considering this?”

“It’s...a new thought. But I’m fairly certain it’s something I want to do.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little impulsive?”

“It’s not—” and at this Nicolò heaves a sigh. “You’re a very fascinating person, Yusuf, and I would like to know more about you—but if you’re not going to give me the light of day I simply cannot continue like this.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I like you, Yusuf.”

The truth drops like a lead weight sinking Yusuf’s stomach. Perhaps Yusuf is so used to the vanity of being adored in the unrequited chase that the truth is a confrontation.

“I understand if you don’t like me back. That’s your prerogative. But surely you must understand—how difficult this proximity makes life.”

Nicolò is right, and yet Yusuf is actually easily carried off by the tides of the prevailing emotions. Many times he’s found himself returning affection tenfold to someone who shows a mere ounce of interest in him. Yusuf has been trying his best to hold Nicolò at arm’s length because Nicolò emerged from one of the most traumatic incidents of his life—the invasion of Jerusalem where he was forced to defend the city from the invading Franks. Nicolò simply cannot have the same understanding of the event when he comes from the winning side, and this is even before Nicolò’s peculiar, monastic naivety that shields him like a protective cloak. However, should Nicolò leave his side, Yusuf is certain he will miss Nicolò’s presence, so Yusuf has to weigh out his options carefully. He settles on a compromise, which is to direct Nicolò to a place that Yusuf can easily keep tabs on, so there is some distance, but no severed connection.

“Nicolò, have you ever thought about studying the science of medicine? This is different from the healing arts you might be more used to—with your amputations and leeches. There are great schools in Córdoba and Baghdad, and I have the connections to get you in. You’re almost fluent in Arabic now, but with a little more work you will qualify to get in.”

Nicolò seems agreeable to the idea, and then he asks if Yusuf can help him with his Arabic, to which Yusuf agrees. It takes another two months for Yusuf to get Nicolò proficient enough in Arabic not to stumble over the roadblocks of medical terminology. Nicolò chooses to go to Córdoba, where there is enough of a Christian population for him to not feel so out of place. 

Yusuf thinks it might be helpful for someone who knows the city to help Nicolò get acquainted, so Yusuf travels with him to Córdoba, to help him get settled in. He accompanies Nicolò during the search for a room for rent, convinced that Nicolò will be ripped off by unscrupulous landlords otherwise. He takes Nicolò to his favorite eateries, and tells Nicolò which stalls at the market to buy supplies from. He introduces Nicolò to some of his contacts in Córdoba, and then, it is time for Yusuf to leave.

In Córdoba, it is a common sight to see men holding hands with other men, strolling down the street. It is a symbol of friendship, an idle everyday gesture, and although they are friends Yusuf can’t allow himself to touch Nicolò. Nothing about it would feel idle, the distance between Yusuf and Nicolò so charged, as if any careless contact might collapse the wall between them, bursting with a profusion of mad impulses that would trample all over his sanity.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” Nicolò says, when they reach the city gate on the west. “I will always treasure your friendship and your generosity.”

“If I’m in the area I’m happy to drop by for a visit,” Yusuf offers.

Nicolò looks like he wants to say something, but then restrains himself with a sharp breath. After regaining composure, he says, “I was thinking it might be good if we don’t see each other for a while.” His eyes are shining with the tears of a person who knows they must endure the agony of severance before they can begin to heal.

With those words Yusuf is struck by the cruelty of his kindness to Nicolò. Yusuf has loved other men for less, men who didn’t care about him at all, or men who cared only for his attributes in parts and not the whole. Since the confession, Nicolò never asked Yusuf for anything, quietly going about his life alongside Yusuf, offering his support to Yusuf in whatever way he can until, unnoticed, their lives have become so intertwined. The truth is, Yusuf can’t conceive of a life where Nicolò isn’t a lingering presence, as vital as air and yet so easily ignored. Why had Yusuf felt such a need to have a hand in Nicolò’s new start in Córdoba? Was it so that he could leave vestiges of himself in secret corners and alleyways for Nicolò to uncover, long after they part? What purpose would that serve, except to torment Nicolò with the reminder of unrequited love?

“I want to see you,” Yusuf confesses in turn, finally dropping the burden of his repressed feelings. “I want to see you every day.”

And so Yusuf puts down his stakes in Córdoba, moving in with Nicolò. From this new location he finds new ways of furthering the family business, by working closely with Amal and her husband in Tangier to secure trade routes through Almoravid lands. In the privacy of their home, when Nicolò is back from the hospital, and when Yusuf isn’t working, they lead a life as sweet as honey, a life of mutual support through independent endeavors.

***

_ Dear Yusuf,  _

_ I checked with Yahya and he doesn’t mind if you have your own guests, but they have to find their own lodging and they should only attend the public portions, unless they know everyone in the family, at which point Father would have invited them first anyways. Just to be safe, maybe they should stay out of mother’s line of sight as well. However, I would like to add, just for myself, if your guests are good looking, you owe me an introduction! _

_ From the best sister in the entire world, (lucky you!) _

_ Farheen _

Yahya is getting married. He has agreed to be matched with Fatimah bint Abdul Aziz, who hails from a partnering merchant family in Fez. Yusuf and Amal had a hand in this introduction, since a Fez connection is valuable to their expansion plans. As such, Yusuf has a busy time of making the travel arrangements for all parties involved, to facilitate the marriage. First, Yusuf arranges for his dad and older mom to travel from Tunis to Fez, where they meet with the bride’s parents to discuss the mahr, the contractual price of the marriage that forms the bride’s personal wealth. A date is fixed, and Yusuf has to help his parents purchase the items that are part of the mahr—and everything must be presented in threes. Yusuf also helps the bride’s family with their travel arrangements, for it is quite the journey from Fez to Tunis. It is decided that most of the journey should be made by ship, due to Yusuf’s family’s maritime strength, thus guaranteeing the safest passage. They have taken the first delivery of their very own vessels, built by the Genoese, and Yusuf sends the grandest one to pick up the bride’s family from the port of Tangier. In Tunis, a house is prepared to accommodate the bridal party, and when they arrive there is a procession to greet them. The bulk of wedding rites are centered on the bride, in women-only situations, so Yusuf takes the bride’s male relatives around the city, where the men talk shop in coffeehouses. 

At the family home, the entire dowry is laid out and checked off against the marriage contract, and with that done, the gifts are packed up and taken in a procession to the bride’s house. There is a staged negotiation, where Yusuf pretends to run off with the gifts, and members of the bridal party pretend to chase after him, and members of his family pretend to help Yusuf flee. Finally, the groom himself hands over the gifts, and the livestock are taken to be slaughtered for the feast. This is followed by a private ceremony, officiated by the imam of Al-Zaytuna. He recites verses from the Quran, and in the sermon that follows, the imam chooses to reflect on verse 21 of Surah Ar-Rum. The imam entreats the groom to live in sakinah with his wife, for God has placed love and mercy between spouses so that they can get comfort and contentment from one another.

On the day of the celebratory feast, the walima, the bride makes her entrance, carried in on an ornate roofed amaria by six men, announced by the negaffa, an ancient, withered old lady whose job is to ensure wedding rites are adhered to. The negaffa chants and sings, announcing blessings for the entrance. The bride is wearing the voluminous robes of the lebsa ifasiya, made of the finest silk brocades with threads of gold and silver, and her hands are decorated with an intricate henna pattern. On her head she wears a heavy tiara replete with jewels and pearls. The newlywed couple is seated under a tent, and guests go up to greet them and present gifts. The feast is attended by many, and the party spills out on the streets. The revelry is fuelled by an endless supply of the finest tea, brought in by the bride’s family especially for the occasion. The sweetest dates are passed around, alongside glasses of almond milk flavored with orange water. The musicians beat their drums and tambourines, and they sing songs of praise and joy. At the tail end of the musical troupe, Yusuf spies a familiar figure, straggling along, but Yusuf’s attention is quickly interrupted. Male relatives are being pulled in to form a row to dance, and the women ululate with joy to the music. The women begin to form a separate row to dance, but as often happens at these events, the different genders gradually intermingle, to the chagrin of the more conservative folk. In the corner of his eye, Yusuf discovers that his little sisters have accosted Nicolò, and he seizes on an opportunity to break away from the dancing. 

“Yusuf always has such handsome male friends,” Farheen states, issuing her approval.

“Yusuf’s handsome male friends are not for you, Farheen,” Sabreen interjects—and then, after exchanging a look with Farheen, the twins conclude in unison, “Yusuf’s handsome friends are for himself!”

_ How improper. _ Yusuf makes a gesture to shoo off his sisters, who run away in a giggling, stumbling heap. That done, Yusuf checks in with Nicolò, handing him a glass of tea as a gesture of concern. “Sorry I’ve been so busy the whole time. Are you enjoying yourself?” 

“I’ve been having a  _ great _ time.” Nicolò takes a swig of the tea, and grins impertinently at Yusuf, before drawing out a tambourine hidden amidst his robes. “Believe it or not, I have been offered a place in the band.”

“Are you going to leave me now?”

“Perhaps. I’ve always dreamed of seeing the Sahara,” Nicolò teases with a widening grin, and then he drops an unexpectedly loaded statement on Yusuf. “You know, your mother asked about me.”

“What?” Yusuf is mortified at the thought of his mother coming into contact with his lover.

“No, no, it’s not what you think. She sent some cousin of yours to ask about me, because she thought I was a freeloading gatecrasher.”

Somehow that statement manages to be even more mortifying. “What did you say?” Yusuf asks warily.

“I said I was just the travelling physician on your ship,” Nicolò replies, which is actually a verifiable fact. “But you know what’s funny—the whole time I can see her glaring at me—she wasn’t standing far away at all, and I’m fairly certain she was eavesdropping, but your cousin relayed that back to her anyway, and then she sent him back to get me to tell you to stop eating such spicy food, since that inflames your choleric temperament.”

Yusuf lets out an agonized mock-grumble, gesturing at the spread of food before them. “Give me a break—this is supposed to be a special night.”

“I am inclined to agree, as someone who loves spicy food just as much as you do,” Nicolò says. “How else will we feed the flames of our passion?”

There is a moment, where Yusuf is drinking in the happiness on Nicolò’s face—the radiant smile, the raised cheeks, the beautiful upturned eyes—and oh, Yusuf would give the world to kiss Nicolò right this moment.

Then again, there is no need for urgency. This is not Yusuf’s night, and the celebrations belong to his brother and his new wife. Yusuf is grateful that Yahya is happy to take on the burden of generating offspring to please the parents. The family is prosperous and Yusuf has tried his best to ensure each of his siblings have a means of their own, wherever they end up. And as for Yusuf and Nicolò, if God wills it to be so, they have the rest of their lives to live, together in tranquility, dwelling in the comfort and contentment of each other.

_ “And one of His signs is that He created for you spouses from among yourselves so that you may find comfort in them. And He has placed between you compassion and mercy. Surely in this are signs for people who reflect.” _

_ -Surah Ar-Rum, 30:21 _

-FIN-

Just for fun, please have the Joe and Nicky family trees I sketched out for this fic + the ages of their siblings at the time of the fic. Males are in green and females are in yellow. Horizontal connections denote marriage, and children are stacked under the mother’s name by order of birth. I also tried to stagger the sibling boxes to show the relative age gaps. Another fun piece of trivia—although I did not list the ages of the parents...Salamah is only a little bit older than Zaynab, which is very Real Housewives of Medieval Tunis of this family and for which I have a whole headcanon about Zaynab and Yusuf being grossed out about it and having Daddy Issues as a result. Wealthy families are so...dramatic (and therefore fun to write lol). On the Genoese side, Simone’s pure capitalist motivations amuse me to no end and please have no doubt that Simone takes a lot of comfort (glee?) from the fact that his gay little brother poses no threat to his inheritance and it is to his benefit Nicky stays that way.

**Author's Note:**

> **Special credit to user Reyb18 for the Islamic scholarship and the suggestion of the wonderful, wonderful verse that ties up the whole story at the end.
> 
> The imam mentions the concept of sakinah, which is word that has no direct translation in English, but is often translated as “tranquility”. The true meaning of the word is deeper than that, since it derives from a root word that connotes dwelling or habitation. A longer description I found online has it as “the Divine Peace which dwells in a sanctuary or in the heart”. As my beta Reyb18 advises, the depth of the word is kind of represented by Joe and Nicky’s 1000 year relationship, so what we see in this fic is kind of just the beginnings of that.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please please please let me know if you spot any inaccuracies or mistakes. I tried my best to do my research for writing this piece, but as a mere fanfic writer from a Southeast Asian background...I am definitely not writing from any position of familiarity. (And yet I was possessed by the notion to write about a medieval Moroccan-Tunisian wedding....I guess I'm a sucker for a challenge.) I will own up to all mistakes and where it is simple to rewrite, I am very happy to revise portions of my story, since no work is ever complete.
> 
> However! Through my research I learned that in the 11th century, Genoese pirates are historically accurate. Tunis also fairly actively participated in trade with Christian regions as a smallish principality, letting other larger powers fight over other things. It is also my personal headcanon that Yusuf and Nicolò experienced the Golden Age of Islamic Learning and if there were to be a sequel to this fic, it would predictably involve Simone becoming Big Bad, especially by financing subsequent Crusades. In the 13th century, I believe Yusuf and Nicolò would follow Ibn Battuta on some of his travels, which brings them to the Far East, and this is where they will meet Andy and Quynh. Ah, so much story to write about!
> 
> Also because I don’t think people will notice if I don’t point this out, in my writing I made a deliberate choice to sound modern, especially in dialogue, to insert the reader in a position of a contemporary to Joe and Nicky, while also consciously avoiding anachronistic figures of speech to the best of my knowledge. By this I mean I never reference anything as “exploding”, because this predates the introduction of gunpowder. At one point Yusuf compares a feeling to lead weights, which is an essential tool to any merchant wishing to avoid scammers. Yusuf’s ex is compared to an extremely renowned late-8th century musician, which I presume is like comparing your prodigious 10yo violin-playing nibling to Paganini. I avoided using the word “company” or “corporation” for Yusuf’s family business, because this era predates the concept of incorporation and would operate on the partnership model. However, the Genoese notaries exist with their meticulous system of public records, and through the Genoese we will also get the concept of the compagna, the public corporation. In fact, the body corporate of the Knights Templar that will emerge from the subsequent crusades IS the origin of the modern day multinational corporation. There’s capitalist history for you.  
>    
> On a final note, I have a very important contextual addendum to Nicolò's interaction with Yusuf's mother. In Islamic weddings, the poor are invited to the wedding feast as a charitable act. As such, there are no gatecrashing freeloaders. For Yusuf's mother to assert Nicolò as one, she is basically flexing her authority on someone she suspects is special to her son. When Yusuf hears what Nicolò reports to him, he is basically hearing that his mom KNOWS who Nicolò is. However, Yusuf's mom also indirectly orders Nicolò to take care of her son (through that "health advisory"), which is level 3000 Complex Family Dynamics but if you live in a family/culture where parents basically never verbalize positive affirmation least of all for your gay partner, you will realize that the very simple act of Yusuf's mother's "health advisory" signals her acceptance. Yeah...level 3000 complex family dynamics for you.


End file.
